


reclaim what is yours

by helloearthlings



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, I'm really sorry, Immortal Merlin, M/M, Modern Era, Once and Future King, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 03:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloearthlings/pseuds/helloearthlings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn’t recall Arthur’s face anymore, or his voice, his smile; it had all vanished. The one person that he had loved more than anything, the person he would always remain loyal to, and he couldn’t even put a face to the name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	reclaim what is yours

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, yes, I know, but Immortal Merlin is one of my favorites, okay? And seeing as how I can't stop writing poetry about it, I figured it was time for a fic. Also, I can't write happy things.

Merlin hadn’t been paying an overabundance of attention until the Frisbee smacked the back of his head.

He wasn’t great at the whole focus thing, never had been, and over a thousand years of life had made his concentration even worse. What was there to focus on when the same motions would occur again and again and again until the sun eventually just stopped shining, forcing the earth to shut down and its inhabitants to die off one by one?

Knowing his luck, Merlin would probably survive that, too.

Another thing his overly long life had taught him was that death wasn’t in Merlin’s nonexistent tarot card reading. But that was okay. On most days, at least.

This was one of the days when it wasn’t, when it hit him so violently, all over again, that his memories were slipping from his grasp ever so slowly and yet in the blink of an eye at the same time. He couldn’t recall Arthur’s face anymore, or his voice, his smile; it had all vanished. The one person that he had loved more than anything, the person he would always remain loyal to, and he couldn’t even put a face to the name.

He was slowly losing moments of their time together; he had lost his mother’s voice and the taste of her cooking centuries ago. Gaius’s famous raised eyebrow was gone, as was Gwen’s kind smile and Gwaine’s raucous laughter. He knew who they were, what they had done together, but for the life of him, no images sprung to mind.

Even the beautiful castle that was his home for nearly ten years had left a vacated spot in his mind’s inventory of locations.

He was able to ignore this most of the time, just focus on the here and the now, despite his desperate longing for the past. It wasn’t easy, but he did it. Today, though, today was a day where the emotions were too great to shove down.

Walks in Hyde Park were good for that, when there were too many whirring thoughts stuck in his mind, screaming at Merlin to pay attention to each of them, not a single one waiting for their turn.

He would rather not listen to what any of them had to say, but he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter right now.

So when the Frisbee hit him, he was hardly in a good, patient, polite mood. His neck snapped around at the group of young men, in their early twenties, probably, about as old as Merlin chose to appear at that current moment in time. One of them raced over to the bench that Merlin had made himself at home at, panting and slightly out of breath, sweat sticking hair to his face.

“Sorry about that, it got out of control,” he said. A jolt of familiarity coursed through Merlin’s veins as he gazed up at the man. There was nothing overly remarkable about him; he was handsome, surely, with blonde hair framing his features, crystalline eyes sparkling, his carefree smile piercing through Merlin’s exterior and working its way into him, settling somewhere deep inside.

It was a strange, curious effect, one that definitely shouldn’t be happening. Merlin tried not to stare at the man, for he’d seen all forms of beauty over his centuries here on earth, but the last time he could remember feeling like this, when the beauty overtook him in such a way that he was almost shivering out of both fear and anticipation…Camelot. Arthur.

Why should a stranger remind him so deeply of his home?

“Hey, are you alright?” The man’s forehead creased in concern. “It didn’t hit you that hard, did it?”

“I’m fine,” Merlin managed to get out and he quickly reached his hand down to pick up the fallen Frisbee. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” the man said, voice airy and light as he stuck out a hand expecting a shake. “I’m Arthur, by the way.”

Merlin didn’t respond to the hand, mainly out of an intense wave of emotion pouring out of him at the sound of his oldest friend’s name. Today was just unfair. Taunting, even. “Nice name.”

A smile crossed the man’s – Arthur’s, although Merlin really couldn’t think of him as Arthur – face at the comment. “Is it?”

“Very,” Merlin’s throat was growing tighter the longer this conversation went on. “Uh, if you’ll excuse me.”

He got up, legs slightly wobbly, and goddammit, why was this affecting him so much? Digging his hands deep into his jacket pockets, he hurried across the park, eyes downcast and determinedly not looking back at the first person in over a thousand years that made his heart skip several beats. Literally.

* * *

 

Arthur wasn’t sure what his problem was, but as he watched the dark-haired stranger amble away, unsteady on his feet, he knew that he had to see him again. That his livelihood depended on the person in every way imaginable, that he would suffocate if he never heard that voice again.

It was the most surreal feeling he’d ever experienced. He’d been playing Frisbee with a few of his mates just a single moment ago and then, and when the disk had spun out of control and thwacked a passerby on the bench across from them, Arthur had gone to chase it down and bring it back, nothing else.

He definitely hadn’t expected whatever this was, because the second he saw the man, the man who hadn’t given him a name, he needed…he needed something. He needed something more than breathing, and the stranger, he was certain, though Arthur had no idea why, was the only person on this planet who could give it to him.

If Arthur was more melodramatic and soppy, he would have compared it to love at first sight. But he was neither of those things; he scoffed at the idea of love, so his incredulity at this feeling coursing through him was overwhelming.

And since Arthur had never been one to think anything through, when the stranger was only barely in sight, he took off after him, abandoning his friends who were probably waiting impatiently for him to return with the Frisbee. He didn’t have much of a guilty conscience over it, though. He would have a chance to make it up to them, but he wouldn’t have another chance to find the stranger.

It was important, he knew, even instrumental, that he found him. The why of it was uncertain, but Arthur was too busy trying to keep track of the top of the stranger’s jet black fringe amidst the crowd.

He almost lost him heading around a group of American tourists, but after a moment’s panic, he spotted him crossing an upcoming street, heading out of the park and back into the regular city. Arthur, picking up his pace, hurried in order to get there before the light changed. He made it, thankfully, and as he reached the other end of the street, it suddenly hit him how creepy this was.

He was acting like a madman, a crazy stalker. What kind of person randomly met someone in the park and started following them across the city? It was madness, that was what it was, and Arthur had any sense at all he would turn around right now and head back to his friends.

These were very good points, very rational ones.

So naturally, Arthur ignored them, eyes trained studiously on the man a few meters in front of him, who apparently hadn’t yet picked up on Arthur’s mad tendencies.

There was such a thing as miracles, apparently.

The stranger wove through the streets, never stopping anywhere or going into a shop, never calling for a cab or getting into a car, something Arthur was grateful for. Keeping up his pretense as a normal bloke doing normal bloke things was made much easier this way.

It was only when the stranger took an unexpected turn into a nearly desolate street, more of an alleyway, really, that Arthur started to panic slightly. Stopping on the street and letting the crowd swarm around him, he tried to appear casual as he peered around the corner to see exactly what the alley looked like, to see if he could somehow head down it without the stranger realizing.

He barely got a glance of it, just enough to see it was empty, the stranger nowhere in sight. Before he could register surprise, he felt a force shoving him backwards into the slightly darkened, graffiti-filled alley, a pair of long arms shoving him into the cement wall. Wincing at the sudden impact, Arthur’s eyes forced themselves upon to see that he was being pressed up against the wall by his dark-haired stranger.

Arthur gaped – how the hell had the guy managed to get around him so quickly – and the man snarled at him “You think I didn’t notice you? Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, following me around?”

“I – I –” Arthur was at a loss for words, for he actually had no idea how he could possibly explain. I had a weird feeling that you and I should know each other? You were interesting and intriguing and made my heart jump out of my chest? I really liked the color of your eyes?

That last one was especially cringe-worthy.

“What are you playing at?” The stranger shook him furiously, his eyes almost appearing as if they were burning up, his voice trembling with something. It wasn’t anger, much to Arthur’s surprise; it was something more akin to desperation.

“I’m not playing at anything!” Arthur got out. He struggled under the man’s firm touch, but he was securely locked into place against the bricks. It frustrated him endlessly, for he was quite muscular, and this person, whoever he was, was on the skinny, slight side, one that shouldn’t have been able to overpower him so easily. And yet he did.

“Then what?” The man asked, eyes seemingly pleading with Arthur for answers. “What?”

“I don’t know!” Arthur decided that the truth was his best option here; because what else was there? “I just – I had to, okay?”

“You had to?” His tone was almost playful for a moment and Arthur almost smiled. It didn’t remain so, but it also didn’t fully develop back into its rough and desperate qualities. His grip on the lapels of Arthur’s t-shirt relaxed slightly, and some of the pressure on his back let up.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, even though most of him didn’t mean it. He didn’t regret his actions; he regretted making the man angry and the fact that he was shoved up against a wall, but he didn’t regret the rest of it. Not even a little bit.

“Just…just don’t worry about it,” the stranger sighed, screwing his eyes shut as if he was trying to block something out of his mind. Arthur gazed up at him, confused. Up against a brick wall once second, forgiven the next? This was easily the stranger day of his life. “Get out of here, alright?”

“Alright,” Arthur agreed, because he wasn’t going to push his luck. He stumbled past the stranger, and on a whim, decided that one last push couldn’t hurt. “Before I go, uh…What’s your name?”

The stranger hesitated for a moment, indecision flickering on his narrow features, before saying, slowly and uncertainly, as if he wasn’t sure of what was about to come out “…Merlin. My name’s Merlin.”

_Merlin,_ Arthur tasted the name on his tongue as he turned away, back onto the crowded streets and back into something akin to normality. He liked the name. It sounded good. It sounded right.

* * *

 

It had finally happened. He may have made it through one thousand, four hundred and twenty seven years without any visible blemishes, but obviously something in his mind had to have cracked along the way, for it was finally happening.

Merlin was going insane.

It was about time, really. According to many reputable scientific sources, insanity was a proper excuse for everything. It would be nice to have a legitimate, foolproof reasoning for everything he did. It would make things so much easier.

And it was all Arthur’s fault.

Well, this Arthur, this new one. Not his Arthur, although his Arthur could probably be blamed in many ways, too. It was his fault; after all, Merlin would have never reached this point in his existence without his Arthur along to aid him in his own destruction.

He tried to hate him for it sometimes, but hating Arthur was something that Merlin could never do.

His Arthur. Not this Arthur.

This Arthur, he could hate. He really, really could.

Maybe.

Merlin could definitely hate the fact that his name was Arthur, and that he had wormed his way into Merlin’s thoughts, into his formerly stone cold heart. It had been two weeks since their encounter and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about blonde hair and the crinkly-eyed smiles. It really wasn’t very fair.

Life was taunting him.

Life was good at that.

But reality would take this new and exciting near stranger away from him in no time; another important lesson Merlin had learned was that everyone died. In the end, he would be the only one left. No matter how hard he tried, death was inevitable for every last one of his dear friends.

The only way to avoid it was to avoid human contact. Merlin didn’t like it much, but it was better than watching another comrade fall.

So he purposefully never sought out this new Arthur (not a replacement for his own, never a replacement, no one could replace him), but that didn’t change the fact that the man had gotten under his skin, tightly lodging himself there, unwilling to let Merlin shake him off.

He was attempting with all his might not to think about him. But fate, as always, fucked him over.

Merlin really should have gotten used to this kind of treatment by now.

It was a Thursday evening at the local Tesco’s and Merlin had run out of milk. He could have magically refilled the carton, but he needed an excuse to get out of his cramped flat. Perhaps he should move on, he’d been London for quite a while now. He could take a trip up to Avalon to see the lake before heading to America…or maybe Italy, he had always like Italy, spent most of the early thirteenth century there.

As he was musing about how quickly he could pack up his life here and skive off to Rome, he found himself crashing headlong into a body, his basket falling out of his still clumsy, too long arms and into the being in front of him.

“Shit, shit, shit, I’m sorry –” Merlin cursed. But then he looked up.

Arthur.

New Arthur.

He cursed again. “Fuck.”

Arthur’s eyes widened almost comically, mouth falling open as he repeated Merlin’s sentiment. “Fuck.”

“Uh…” Merlin started, but realized he had no idea how he wanted the sentence to flesh out. None at all. He didn’t like that feeling. “I...Arthur.”

“Merlin,” he greeted with an incredulous laugh. “I…Wow.”

“This is unexpected,” Merlin’s brain was having difficulty putting words together.

“Very,” Arthur said, but he was smiling. He was obviously pleased about this turn of events, while Merlin, on the other hand, was internally screaming every profanity there was. “Almost like destiny.”

Merlin nearly winced at the dreaded word. “Something like that. Well, uh, I’ve, gotta go…”

Rome beckoned, after all.

Apparently, new Arthur didn’t like this idea much, for he stopped Merlin from heading away with a forceful hand on his wrist. “Wait. I…Can I please talk to you for a second?”

“Not much to say,” Merlin got out before trying, once again, escaping the situation. No such luck, for Arthur’s grip only tightened.

“Look, I just have to ask,” Arthur said with a tone of desperation. “Why…why can’t I stop thinking about you? Why do I feel like I know you? Like we’ve met before?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin was harsh and biting and he purposefully did not think about what those words might mean. “I don’t know.”

“And there are these dreams,” Arthur continued. “Ever since I met you. There’s a castle, and I’m a king, and you’re there, too, and you’re…you’re protecting me or something…”

Merlin froze. Every cell in his body lit aflame as he turned slowly to face Arthur again. Arthur. New Arthur, yet not; it was his Arthur. God, his Arthur.

Images flooded back into his mind, images of golden hair shining in the sunlight, a wide smile of white teeth, taunting him and laughing at him, open-mouthed and beautiful, crinkling eyes and a knightly stance, broad shoulders and a square jaw, and Merlin remembered.

“Arthur…” He breathed out, staring at him, truly taking him in fully for the first time. He drank the sight in eagerly, like a man finding a waterfall somewhere deep in the desert, the first taste of life in an age. “Arthur.”

“What is it?” His oldest friend, his only love, breathed out, his face determinedly not frightened, only concerned. Merlin only then realized that there were tears in his eyes.

* * *

 

Seeing Merlin in Tesco’s had sent Arthur into shock. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking, or dreaming, about this strange and mysterious Merlin character since they parted, and now here he was.

And Arthur couldn’t let him go a second time.

He hadn’t expected this, whatever it was; at the mention of the dreams, Merlin had broken. His face, his presence, everything, had fallen as he stared at Arthur with unreserved shock and awe.

At his question, Merlin reached up a hesitant hand, is if he was afraid he would wake up from a dream. As his fingers touched the skin on Arthur’s cheek, Arthur could feel something within him explode.

Suddenly, he knew. It didn’t wash over him like a flowing stream, or come to him piece by piece. It fell into his head in an instant, and in just that one second, everything changed.

“Merlin,” he whispered, almost like a prayer, and Merlin’s touch didn’t leave him. “Oh, God. Merlin.”

“You remember?” Merlin’s voice cracked and Arthur nodded.

“I remember,” he laughed, because there was nothing else he could do. “How could you not?”

“I’d…I’d forgotten what you looked like,” Merlin shook his head, screwing his eyes shut. “It’s been so long, Arthur.”

“What do you mean?”

“Over a thousand years,” Merlin admitted after a second and Arthur’s heart was suddenly pulled at, a hard yanking of utter pain. “I’ve been waiting.”

“You’ve been alive?” Arthur’s hands were gripping Merlin’s shoulders now, and they must look absolutely ridiculous to the other customers, but to be honest, the levels at which he didn’t care were astronomical.

Merlin’s head jerked up and down a couple of times as a tear fell from one of his eyes. Arthur lifted a finger to wipe it away, and he could feel the water in his eyes threaten to spill as well.

Arthur didn’t know who instigated it, but it was inevitable either way; they found their way into each other’s arms a moment later, gripping tightly, reaching for any available surface, without an ounce of abandon.

He felt Merlin pressing feather light kisses onto the side of his neck and Arthur fully relaxed into him, holding him even more firmly. They hadn’t done this before, but that was okay; no matter what may happen, he never wanted Merlin to let him go again.

“Come back to mine?” Arthur suggested into Merlin’s shoulder. They still hadn’t broken apart, and probably wouldn’t for as long as they possibly could. “I think we have some catching up to do.”

“That’s an understatement,” Merlin laughed into him, and Arthur loosened his grip, still keeping their hands interlocked together.

There was a part of that was afraid that without Merlin’s touch, he would forget, and Merlin would be alone once more. And he would never let that happen.

He was going to hold on until the earth shattered.


End file.
